Goddamn Gnomes
by Sleeves
Summary: After all these years, Tweek is still haunted by the Underpants Gnomes. But now, he's got an ally. Craig x Tweek.


_A/N: _So here's my first Creek fic. I'm pretty much in love with this pairing. Rating's for language.

**Goddamn Gnomes**

—

Tweek had a chronic fear of phones. He never picked up the phone, terrified of what might be waiting on the other side of the receiver. But, often the victim of violent psychotic episodes, Tweek needed a way to constantly be reached despite his fear of phones. Tweek needed to be protected from his own head, and so Craig had decided years back to get him caller ID and start taking care of him. Whenever Craig's number showed up, Tweek would know it was safe to answer, still squeaking a wary, "Craig?" into the receiver just to be sure.

Whenever Craig called, Tweek answered. He was always jittery, always hesitant to trust anybody, but when he talked to Craig, his nerves relaxed—just a tiny, tiny bit—and over the years, he had grown to trust Craig more than anybody else. Craig was just about the _only _person Tweek trusted. And so Craig would call him, and Tweek would answer, and over the years he grew a little less afraid of answering the phone—just a tiny, tiny bit.

But this time there was no soft, tense squeak of "Craig?" from the other end of the line. Instead, when Craig called to ask Tweek if he wanted to go hang out or see a movie or something, the only reply was a long dial tone, and then an automated voice telling Craig that We're sorry, this line is no longer in service.

"The fuck?"

Tweek was medicated to control his schizophrenia and insomnia and dementia and his whole slew of other disorders Craig couldn't name, but sometimes it got really, really out of hand. Sometimes Tweek would completely lose control of himself, and that was when Craig would have to look out for him the most. He often had episodes like this, but he'd never disconnected the phone before.

What if he hurt himself?

What if he killed himself?

Craig reached the Tweak residence in less than five minutes, almost dying several times during the drive over, thirty-five miles over the speed limit. He slammed his fist on the door and screamed, loud and angry, "_TWEEK_, open the fucking door!"

Which of course would have the exact opposite effect he intended. Sighing through gritted teeth, he knocked twice, rang the doorbell once, then knocked three times. It was the secret "I'm Craig, not some murderer or child molester" code, and it was sure as hell more effective than screaming Open the fucking door.

There was a long pause, and just as Craig was about to raise his fist to start knocking again, he heard the click of a latch on the other side of the door. And then another, and another, and once all three locks had been released, the door slid open a sliver, and a huge, terrified eye stared out the crack at Craig.

"CRAIG! EERGH!"

"Jesus Christ, Tweek." Craig forced the door the rest of the way open, and Tweek stumbled backward frantically until his back _thunk_ed against the wall behind him. "What the fuck'd you disconnect the phone for?"

"Ugh—oh, god," Tweek stammered, staring past Craig at the open door. "F-for god's sake—close that—"

Craig shut the door, noticing for the first time that Tweek was clutching a spatula in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. It was a ridiculous sight, one Craig would have laughed at years ago, before he'd realized it really wasn't funny at all.

"What are those." There was nothing questioning about the deadpan tone.

"These!" Tweek flinched, gazing wide-eyed at the utensils in his fists. "AH! Craig, don't be angry! It's the—the gnomes. I have to protect myself!"

"The gnomes disconnected your phone."

"Er—no, that was—_nngh_—me." Tweek fidgeted uncomfortably, dropping his eyes to the floor. Then, seized by a sudden surge of panic, they shot up again, locking frantically with Craig's. "I was scared! I-I didn't know what to do—_GAH!_"

Craig had grabbed the spatula and kitchen knife from him, heading for the kitchen. "Don't touch these. You'll hurt yourself, you goddamn idiot."

"I swear to god—ergh, there were gnomes, and—and there was n-no coffee left," Tweek squeaked, huddled against the wall like a beaten dog.

"Yup," said Craig, pulling a bag of instant coffee mix from his coat pocket. Tweek seemed to calm down a bit once the smell of coffee reached him after a few minutes, leaving his position against the wall to shuffle into the kitchen and watch the coffee brew with big, glassy eyes.

"You don't ever disconnect the phone," Craig said tersely, not turning from the counter until the coffee was done. He set the mug down in front of Tweek, who murmured a twitchy "thanks" before gulping it down.

"So. No coffee left in your house. That's kind of weird, isn't it, Tweek?" Craig asked, sitting across from Tweek once he had reconnected the phone.

Tweek's hands trembled around the coffee mug. "I-it was the gnomes."

"I thought the gnomes only stole underwear."

"They _do!_" Tweek sputtered, looking absolutely horrified. "They _did!_"

"All of it?" Craig propped his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin.

"I—I think so." Tweek's lips trembled, and he took another gulp of coffee to settle his nerves.

"What about the ones you're wearing?"

Tweek cast a panicky look down at himself. "Uh…"

"Never mind," Craig said, deciding the thought of having the underwear stolen right off his ass would scare the blond even more.

Tweek did look a bit jumpier as he stared into the mug. "What if they're still around?" he murmured to himself, his eyes darting around the room.

"Look, just… I don't know, just sit on the couch or something and I'll pour you some more coffee," Craig said, rising to his feet and heading to the kitchen counter.

It was stressful, this routine of always taking care of Tweek. A lot of the time his parents just weren't around, and Craig had to calm him down and pour his coffee. It was stressful, and it pissed him off a lot, and he was sure it wasn't good for his health, but Craig sort of liked it.

He brought the second mug of coffee to the twitching blond, who had obediently taken his place on the couch. Craig sat down beside him, heaving an exhausted sigh, and they lapsed into several minutes of silence, broken only by the occasional nervous grunt from Tweek.

"Jesus, Tweek, I thought this was something serious," Craig finally muttered, picking at his thumbnail. "Those goddamn gnomes. You disconnected your phone for those goddamn gnomes."

Sensing the irritation in Craig's voice, Tweek gave a soft yelp, and the mug slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the floor and shattering into little pieces of ceramic. "I'm sorry!" he squeaked, looking horrified. "I'm sorry, Craig—oh Jesus…"

"It's fine, Tweek, I'll clean it up in a minute," Craig said. He was never patient, only with Tweek. The only time he ever had a shred of patience was with Tweek.

"Craig?"

"Mmhmm?" Craig asked, watching as the dark liquid dribbled across the hardwood floor and seeped into the rug.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Tweek said miserably, gazing down at the pieces of his broken mug.

"Who said I was scared?" Craig retorted, lifting his eyes to Tweek. "I was just really pissed off at you, you dumb idiot."

Which meant "I forgive you" by Craig's standards. Tweek gave a little half-smile, still jittery like always, but maybe just a tiny, tiny bit less than usual.

Craig flipped him off and slung an arm around Tweek's shoulders, kissing him gently so the blond wouldn't freak out, and then, still frowning, still deadpan, still absolutely serious, said, "Spatula and kitchen knife, huh? If I see one of your goddamn gnomes around here, I'll pull out my fucking gun."


End file.
